But it was too late.

Amara's chest stopped moving. Her face relaxed into stillness. Her body was gone cold.

Adaobi broke down, clutching her lifeless sister against her chest, wailing. "No! Amara, no! Please come back. Please don't leave me here alone!"

Instantly, the doctor and a nurse stormed the room, trying to check Amara's pulse...

************

Alex sat in his office, restless. His pen rolled between his fingers, tapping against the desk, but his mind was not with the papers before him.

His heart was heavy, thoughts scattered. He didn't even notice when his colleague walked in, carrying a file.

"Dr. Spencer," the colleague said, placing the folder gently on the table, "this is the list of patients waiting for you in the cue."

Alex barely looked up. His voice was distant. "Drop it there."

The colleague turned to leave but paused at the door. His eyes narrowed as he studied Alex. "Are you okay?"

Alex's fingers scratched absently at the side of his neck. His nails dragged across the spot again and again until red welts appeared, followed by thin traces of blood.

The colleague frowned. "Wait... is that an allergic reaction?"

Alex jerked slightly, pulling his hand away. "It's nothing. Just go check on the patients."

"Nothing? You're bleeding. You should let someone look at that."

"I said it's fine," Alex muttered, impatience lacing his tone.

But the colleague didn't leave. Instead, he stepped closer. "You know, Amara once compiled a full list of your allergens. Every single thing you react to. She worked on it for days. I still remember her coming around different departments, asking about precautions."

Alex's head lifted slowly. His eyes searched his colleague's face. "Allergens?" he repeated, his voice heavy with surprise.

"Yes. She was very particular. She wanted to be sure you never touched or ate anything that could harm you."

The words hit him deep, but he said nothing. His jaw tightened as he looked away, swallowing hard.

That evening, Alex sat with a group of his friends in their usual lounge. Drinks crowded the table. Laughter and loud music filled the space.

But his mind was lost. His hand moved automatically, lifting glass after glass, gulping whatever his fingers touched.

James leaned over from the other side of the table, his eyes narrowing. "Alex, are you alright? The way you're drinking... this one is not ordinary stress oo. Did your wife leave you?"

Alex dropped his glass and spoke without hesitation. "She divorced me."

The table went silent for a moment. Then one of the friends suddenly jumped to his feet, clapping his hands. "Finally! Congratulations, my brother!"

Another friend raised his own drink, laughing loudly. "Freedom! This calls for a toast." He pushed his glass high in the air. "To Alex, who is now free from chains!"

The men burst into cheers, clinking glasses together. But Alex's face stayed blank. He took another deep gulp, then slammed the glass down on the table with force.

His eyes darkened.

He shot up to his feet.

"I'm out," he muttered. His steps were heavy as he stormed away from the table.

"Alex! Alex!" James called after him. But Alex didn't turn back. He pushed through the crowd and left the lounge.

*******************

By the time he arrived home, alcohol still thick in his blood, his voice thundered through the mansion.

"Where is everyone?!" he roared, throwing his coat to the floor. His eyes darted around the sitting room. "Where is Amara?!"

His voice rose again, desperate. "Amara!"

The butler hurried in, his steps cautious. "Sir..."

Alex spun to face him. "Where is she? Answer me!"

The butler knew his master was aware his wife had left him. But the influence of alcohol or maybe depression had caused a little disorder to his senses.

The butler bowed his head slightly. "Madam has left, sir."

"Left?" Alex's voice cracked. He looked around the room as though she might appear from the shadows.

His fists slammed against the table. "Can't this house function without her? Is everyone blind here?!"

The butler said nothing, only watched him with quiet sorrow.

Alex dropped heavily onto the sofa, his chest heaving. His head bent low into his hands.

After a long silence, the butler cleared his throat. "Sir... there is something you should know."

Alex's eyes shot up sharply. "What is it?"

"This afternoon, while one of the maids was cleaning, she found a paper. It... it was Madam's medical report."

Alex frowned, straightening. "What report?"

The butler hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Madam Amara has brain cancer. Um... Pilocytic Astrocytoma."

The words hit Alex like a thunderclap. He stood suddenly, grabbing the report the butler held out. His eyes scanned the pages.

His breath caught. His body stiffened.

"Brain... cancer?" he whispered. His hands trembled, his eyes wet.

But almost immediately, anger burned through his chest. His voice rose in fury. "No! No, this pathetic trick won't fool me!"

The paper crumpled beneath his grip. He tore it apart in a violent rip. Shreds of paper fell from his fingers like pieces of broken truth, scattering across the floor.

The butler stared, stunned, unable to move.

Alex's face hardened. His chest heaved with wild breaths. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers flying across the screen.

He pressed a number and waited until the voice answered.

"Track her down," Alex ordered, his voice like ice. "Find Amara's location immediately."

His jaw tightened as his eyes burned with fury.

"How dare she fake medical reports just to manipulate me?!"

Alex sat in his garden, gulping the last glass from the whiskey bottle. The bitter taste burned down his throat, but it did nothing to calm the fire inside him.

Cigarette butts littered the small side table beside him, the air thick with smoke.

His eyes were bloodshot, restless, shifting from the dark sky to the empty glass in his hand. He wasn't restless because he missed Amara.

No, what ate him up was the thought of her daring to fool him, daring to walk out with divorce like she could command his life.

The gate creaked open. A tall, well-built man stepped in, his stride calm but deliberate. It was James, Alex's closest friend, the one he had asked earlier to trace Amara's whereabouts.

James stopped near the chair, his eyes quietly scanning the bottles, the ash, and the mess of a man before him.

"You know, Alex," James said slowly, "the way you're drinking, the way you're smoking yourself into pieces like this... it almost looks like heartbreak. Could it be you're finally falling in love with Amara? That's why her absence is shaking you like this?"

Alex's head jerked, his eyes flaring with irritation. "Love? With Amara?" He laughed bitterly, almost choking on his own voice. "How can I fall in love with someone who has no vision, no talent, no spark? Someone who is clueless about everything?" He dragged on another cigarette and exhaled harshly. "Nah. Impossible."

James tilted his head, not convinced. "Then why are you like this?"

Alex raised his hand sharply, cutting him off. "Enough of this interrogation. If you don't have the answer I asked for, quietly leave."

James pressed his lips together, swallowing the sting of those words. He had known Alex for years, but the man before him wasn't just drunk; he was drowning.

Still, James ignored the sharpness, telling himself it was the alcohol speaking.

"I found her," James finally said, his voice steady. "Here's the address. Exact number, exact building."

Alex's eyes lit up instantly. He shot to his feet so suddenly the chair nearly toppled. "Good!" He grabbed his phones with shaky hands. "Let's go."

James blinked, stunned by the sudden energy. "Alex-"

But Alex was already moving, his long strides carrying him toward the gate. James sighed and followed

The drive was quiet, but Alex's heart pounded like war drums. His fists clenched and unclenched on his knees as he stared through the windshield.

He didn't even realize how fast the car was going until James slowed down and parked by the curb.

They had arrived.

Before James could even turn off the engine, Alex shoved the door open and rushed out. The urge to see Amara, to confront her, to prove her games false, pressed on his chest like a heavy weight.

He was halfway across the compound when James grabbed his arm.

"Alex, wait!" James pulled him back slightly. "Think this through. Is it not better to take it easy? To calm down and face this with sense instead of rushing blind?"

Alex turned his head slowly, his eyes piercing into James's. For a long second, he said nothing. Then, without a word, he shook his head, firm and final, and yanked his arm free.

In the next moment, he dashed straight into the house.

James sighed deeply, then followed behind.

******

The door opened to a dimly lit sitting room, and Alex stopped dead. His breath caught in his throat, his body frozen in disbelief.

Several men were inside, moving about with quiet steps. They carried chairs, arranged tables, and set flowers along the walls.

The whole place was shifting into something solemn, something heavy. It looked like preparation for an occasion.

But none of that hit Alex as much as what stood in the center of the room.

On a table draped with white cloth stood a large picture frame- Amara's picture.

Her face stared out softly, her smile frozen in time. Around the frame were fresh flowers, neatly arranged, their scent filling the room.

At the base of the table, candles burned low, their flames flickering gently in the still air.

Every sign was clear. This was no party. No trick. It was a memorial.

Amara was gone.

Alex's mouth opened, but no word came out. His throat closed up. His legs trembled, betraying him. The picture blurred before his eyes as water filled them.

He tried to step forward, but suddenly his knees buckled under him. He staggered, collapsing halfway, but James rushed forward and caught him just in time, holding his weight.

"Alex, steady!" James's voice was tight with concern.

Alex looked at his friend, then back to the picture again. His lips shook. His chest heaved. He clutched James's arm like a drowning man.

"No..." His voice cracked like glass. His eyes stayed locked on the frame, on Amara's calm face staring back at him from another world. His breathing grew faster, shallow, and almost desperate.

"This can't be true."

Alex dragged himself up from the floor with James' help, his body trembling as though strength had been drained out of him.

His eyes refused to shift away from the frame picture of Amara on the stand.

Her smile was too alive, too warm to belong to someone who was gone. His lips trembled as if words were fighting to come out, but all he could manage was a broken whisper.

"This is not real... it's not real."

"Sir, are you here for the funeral of Miss Amara Akwarandu?"

The soft voice of one of the ladies arranging flowers nearby broke into his grief. Alex's head jerked sharply towards her.

Her face looked harmless, but her words stabbed like sharp glass. His chest tightened.

"Funeral?" His voice cracked, almost childlike. "What are you saying? Whose funeral?"

The two ladies exchanged quick, nervous glances, unsure if this man standing before them was in his right senses.

The first lady stepped forward again, lowering her voice as if careful with a madman. "Sir, I said-"

"Shut up!" Alex roared suddenly, his hand rising in the air as if to strike the air itself.

The sharpness of his tone made both ladies flinch. Their eyes widened in fear, and they took two quick steps backwards. The trembling candles on the table cast flickers across their uneasy faces.

They stood frozen for a moment, then turned suddenly and hurried away, skirts brushing against the floor as they disappeared through the back door.

James caught his friend's arm, trying to steady him. "Alex, calm down. Please. You're scaring people."

But Alex shoved him off, his voice rising in raw anguish. "No! She's not dead. Amara! Amara, come out! Enough of this madness. Stop playing this expensive trick!"

His shouts filled the room, echoing against the walls until it felt like the house itself was trembling.

His cries drew the attention of security men outside. Three uniformed officers stormed in, their boots thudding on the tiled floor. They scanned the scene quickly: the crying man, the candles, the casket at the far end of the room.

Their faces hardened.

"What's going on here?" one officer demanded, his hand already brushing against the butt of his gun. His eyes locked on Alex. "Sir, are you here for the funeral?"

That word again. Funeral. Alex's body stiffened, his head turning slowly toward the officer as if daring him to repeat it.

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Don't you dare say that word to me again."

The officers exchanged quick glances. The tallest among them shifted uneasily. "Sir, we don't want trouble. I'll ask you to leave this place immediately before things get out of hand. If you refuse, we'll have no choice but to place you under arrest."

His fingers tightened on the holster.

James rushed forward, spreading his arms between Alex and the officers. "Please, officers, calm down. He's not here to cause trouble. My friend is just... he's grieving."

But Alex ignored the voices around him. His eyes had found the coffin resting quietly by the altar, covered in white lace and roses.

He staggered forward, his hand shaking as he pointed at it. "Open it," he demanded, his voice cracking. "Open that box now. She's not inside. She can't be inside."

"Sir!" one of the officers barked, stepping in his way.

But Alex shoved past him with wild strength, his steps breaking into a run. He reached the coffin and slammed his foot hard against the lower stand, almost toppling it. "Amara! Amara, answer me!"

The sudden violence snapped the officers into action.

They rushed forward, pinning him by both arms. Alex kicked wildly, his voice raw. "Get your fucking hands off me! Do you know who I am? I'm Dr. Alex Spencer! The world's best neurosurgeon! Nobody stops me from seeing my wife!"

The officers grunted as they struggled to restrain him. One pulled out his handcuffs, snapping them open with a metallic click. "That's enough, sir. You're under arrest-"

But before the cuffs could touch Alex's wrist, a sharp, clear voice cut through the chaos.

"Officers! Stop right there."

The command carried authority, feminine yet firm. All heads turned.

At the entrance stood a tall, striking young woman dressed in black, her steps calm but commanding as she advanced. Her face was familiar, carrying the same sharp jawline and delicate features as the smiling picture of Amara.

Her eyes were dark, hard as glass, her lips curved in a smirk that didn't belong in a mourning hall.

It was Adaobi Akwarandu, Amara's younger sister.

The officers straightened immediately, their grip on Alex loosening though their eyes still watched him with caution.

"What's going on here, officers?" Adaobi asked, her voice cool.

One officer quickly explained, gesturing toward Alex who was still struggling against their hold.

"Madam, this man was creating a scene, disrupting the peace. We tried to restrain him before things got worse."

Adaobi's lips twitched with a cold smile. Her eyes slid over Alex slowly, deliberately, as though peeling off his pride one layer at a time.

She lifted her chin slightly. "Release him. I'll handle this myself."

The officers hesitated, glancing at one another. Adaobi's smirk deepened. "Did you not hear me? I said let him go."

Reluctantly, they obeyed, stepping back.

Alex stumbled free, breathing hard, his chest heaving like a man rescued from drowning. He turned, ready to lash out again, but his eyes caught Adaobi's gaze.

She stood there in silence for a moment, studying him the way a scientist studies a strange specimen.

Then she tilted her head, her voice cutting through the heavy air like sharpened steel.

"So," she said, her lips curling with mockery, "to what do I owe this reckless presence of my late sister's deranged husband?"